


Captive

by SharpestRose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:11:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestRose/pseuds/SharpestRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ginny thinks it's probably a snake thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Captive

Ginny thinks it's probably a snake thing.

After all, a snake spine is supple enough to twist and curve and slither, it stands to reason that it would also be really good at lounging.

In her black beaded dress, fringed all over like jewelled scales, with her eyes kohl-rimmed and her mouth swollen and red from pressure and paint, Ginny likes to pretend she's one of the elegant snake-women, capable of looking perfectly poised no matter what the circumstances.

But she never is. They call her weasel, mouse, rabbit, soft furred little creatures to sink gleaming teeth into. To swallow whole.

Narcissa simply watches her, unblinking for so long that Ginny sometimes finds herself holding her breath, waiting for time to go back to its proper rate. Narcissa thinks she has potential, if the Dark Lord once found this bruised scrap of a girl worthy of his designs then she must be more than she seems. Perhaps in time, with the proper education, the girl will be ready for greatness. She's pretty, after a fashion, and Narcissa knows better than most that even the reddest hair can be tamed to a more suitable colour with enough persuasion.

Yes, one day she will make Draco a suitable wife.

Inside, in the secret part of herself where Ginny hides her thoughts and plans, a spark of amusement ignites. The ferret deserves a weasel for his mate.

Bella laughs at Narcissa's plans, the warm laugh of affection and teasing. Ginny did not know, before she was brought here, that snakes could laugh.

Bella doesn't think that Draco deserves such a lovely creature. Bella considers Ginny a wax doll, of sorts, pliable and soft, and would prefer to keep things as they are.

"I never liked sharing my toys with stupid little boys," she whispers to Ginny sometimes. Ginny blinks and then remembers to smile, her eyes glazed and her mouth sore with kisses.

She's lost track of the days and weeks and months, and sometimes wonders if the summer is over yet. She misses her brothers, in her secret cache of thoughts. And Dean, whose kisses were nervous and hesitant and made her feel important. And Hermione, whom Ginny sometimes daydreamed about and who never would have been hesitant in the least. And Harry, who never quite fit into 'crush' or 'family' or 'friend' but was something just as important all of his own. Ginny hopes that they are all doing all right. She hopes they don't think of her too much.

Ginny's kept that place inside her head so secret that sometimes she forgets it's there herself. When her lungs are full of honey-flavoured hookah smoke and there are soft cushions pillowing her back, she slips into being someone closer to what they want to turn her into.

Bella's fingers are cruel, hard and rough as they push inside Ginny. In the beginning, Ginny would distract herself by worrying about the beaded dresses, sure to tear under such treatment. But now she has learnt that there are always more dresses to replace those that are damaged, each more beautiful than the last. And, when Ginny is dizzy and drowsy and has nothing else to think about, those harsh fingers make her arch and writhe and choke on screams.

Afterwards, she does no let herself fret about how close she might have come to losing who she was. Better to die a little, after all, than die a lot.

Ginny is not so solipsistic to assume she is the first to wear these clothes and walk these hidden rooms.

When she finds that secret place again (which she always does eventually - it's what keeps her close to sane, after all, and she's in no hurry to let that fly off in the wind), she makes herself remember every whispered word, every urgent press of hip to hip. Perhaps it will be useful some day, to know these intimate weaknesses.

After all, a weasel is not so different from a mongoose.  



End file.
